


Overt Flirtation

by Thealien



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub, Drunkenness, Face-Fucking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealien/pseuds/Thealien
Summary: Arcade said that "overt flirtation will get him anywhere" and Courier Six is doing his damn best to make that happen.Content Warnings: references to mildly unhealthy relationships, alcohol drinking, non-negotiated BDSM, a singular mention of a homophobic microaggression
Relationships: Arcade Gannon/Courier, Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	Overt Flirtation

Today was the first in many that wasn’t an uphill slog through awful. The sun let up, as much as it ever did in the desert, cazadores didn’t chase them off anything, there was enough water, and there weren’t Powder Gangers around every turn. Not that they ever got close enough to Six to know he was there; the man just picked off heads with his rifle like swatting flies. But it was still _annoying_ dealing with them.

Even if watching Six snipe was interesting. It was a strange blend of emotions, at first the mild arousal from hyper-competence that came whenever Arcade was around true experts, not to mention from getting to study the courier’s form as he wished.

Without the man catching him in the act and posing.

But then also, the tickle of anxiety at seeing lives end from such a distance. The first one never saw it coming and the forewarning didn’t do the others any good. It made Arcade more aware than he’d like of the threat posed by snipers. Not that he was a particularly interesting assassination target, but his current orbit around this particular epicenter of chaos did increase his odds of catching a stray bullet.

Of course, someone might try just to piss off Six, Arcade supposed. He did once stab a caravanner just for making a crass joke about trying to figure out which of them was “the girl”, since Six’s hair was long but Arcade was so mild-mannered. Not that they’d ever been more intimate than tending to wounds or, on particularly cold nights, sharing their blankets and body heat, but Six was both protective and _possessive_. Julie had even gotten his sharp eyes, for teasing Arcade about his shoddy results despite months of research.

Easy-going until he wasn’t, that was Six for you. He’d be laughing and carefree one moment and carving smiles into necks the next, if the mood took him. Always to help, just _impatient_. If the morally-correct way was more than five minutes, Six would beat it into a bloody two-second solution instead.

“Do I need’ta check you for a concussion?”

Arcade blinks and sees Six stretching, all languid, loose muscle. It’s difficult, but he manages to not ogle too obviously. Lithe, lean muscle, with a few dozen scars scattered across. Once they reached the safehouse, he’d left to go scrub off the week’s worth of grime and his skin still glistened. He’d only bothered to put low-hanging pants on, letting his hipbones jut temptingly out of the top of them and his entire torso on display.

“Or maybe you need some alone time?”

Arcade snorts, taking a sip of his drink, ignoring the embarrassment of being caught staring.

“Forgive me for being a little drowsy after that hike.”

Six laughs at that, coming over to the kitchen table to dig through his bag. Arcade hadn’t made it far into the safehouse, just to drink some water and enjoy sitting for a few minutes. Claiming he’s tired isn’t just a convenient excuse for letting his eyes rest on a different drink of water; it had been a _long_ week.

“Care for something a little stronger?”

Lost in his thoughts again, he chides himself, refocusing on Six. He’s got a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a shot. His second, based on the way his tongue runs over his lips, savoring the flavor.

“Should have some water first.” He takes another swig of the bottle, demonstration, but also to empty it.

Six knows him well enough that anything besides a ‘no thanks’ is a ‘yes’ and snags another shot glass from his bag.

Arcade’d asked once, why he bothers to carry shot glasses. It’d be better to carry full-sized glasses, ones that could be used for something besides debauchery, and Six had been nearly _offended_.

“Got a toast?”

Their fingertips brush over the passed shot glass in a way that Arcade would assume was intentional, if it wasn’t how Six handed everything to him.

“To soft beds and strong walls.”

Another laugh, hearty and wholesome, and Arcade lets himself smile a little at it. Their glasses clink and Six shoots it back with the same vigor he always did. Arcade sips it, because he’s a civilized person and it’s the first bit of alcohol he’s had since they left Westside, _two_ weeks ago. He likes to taste his food and drink and not just the dregs of whatever smears onto his mouth.

Which isn’t much, because as see previous, he’s a civilized person. Meanwhile, Six is pouring his fourth shot of the night, holding the third in his mouth.

“I don’t plan on taking it from you.” Arcade remarks, considering whether or not to be concerned.

Six was younger than he was, but no kid. Exactly how much younger though was hard to tell, what with the fact that the only thing he knew about himself was that he had been a courier. Not even his name.

_“Six is better than whatever I had before, anyways.”_ He’d claimed with a shit-eating grin, when Arcade had expressed his condolences. _“I can tell.”_

Old enough to make his own decisions about alcohol, at least, but Arcade isn’t exactly heartbroken when he settles down with his shot.

“We spent half the night walking here, I’m trying to get caught up.”

His grin only grows at Arcade’s eyeroll. They drink in silence, Six refilling Arcade’s glass without asking, and Arcade doesn’t study the lovely red that steals over his face. Honestly, he’s seen the man hit the bottle harder, just not outside of a proper bar. Inside of one, well, he was on a first name basis with every bouncer at the Wrangler from how often he gets tossed into his private room, practically by the scruff of his neck.

And more often than Arcade cares for, said bouncer would then shut the door behind them. He’d intervened once, concerned about Six’s well-being (and ability to consent).

He’d do it again, his moral code demanding it, but the sight of Six like _that_ took a long, long time to leave his mind. On a more honest day, it’s actually done the opposite, infecting his fantasies. Too many times he’s enjoyed himself thinking about it, about the way the bouncer jerked Six’s head back by his ponytail to look at Arcade, not even pretending to slow down, and the moans that he was fine, good, beautiful even, don’t worry about him.

Arcade’s shot glass is plucked out of his hand and he watches Six finish his shot.

“Any reason for that?” He asks, noting that _his_ glass is still full.

And the bottle is only half empty, too. Six runs his tongue over his teeth, humming.

“I could, so I did. ‘Sides, you were just about to drop it and that would’ve been a waste of solidly okay whiskey.”

He leans back in his chair, stretching out a leg almost all the way to Arcade, and lets his head loll back. The picture of ease, of reclined pleasure. Actually, Arcade’s pretty sure he’s seen this exact pose in pre-war skin mags, not that he’s seen many.

He reaches out for Six’s glass, not that the other man seems to care. But Six’s casual hedonism has gotten to him and he shoots it, enjoying the spike of heat through his belly.

Let them have a bit of role reversal then, for a moment. Arcade pours himself a double while Six contemplates his eyelids.

“We need a vacation.” Six drawls, finally, and Arcade snorts.

“Planning on getting kicked out of more casinos?”

Twice out of Gomorrah and once from the Ultra-Luxe, but Six avoided the Tops like it was irradiated. More, actually; all it took for him to risk death or mutation was something shiny.

“Maybe.” He lifts his head, playful. “They need a little riling up sometimes. Get the blood pumping.”

Riling up, code word for Six throwing a chair at someone. Granted, they had alluded to the Legion’s massacre at Nipton as “cleansing”, but still. Arcade had barely gotten to take a bite of his dinner before the guard informed him that his friend would be enjoying a two week ban.

Six had not been amused that Arcade had stayed to finish his meal, but Arcade hadn’t found finding Six in the bushes with an off-duty dancer very funny either.

“I’m not bandaging you up after a bar brawl.”

The most patently false threat he’d ever made, which Six knew.

“‘Course you will, I’m entertainment _and_ a cautionary tale. How often you get those two-for-one deals, doc?”

“I believe Gomorrah specializes in them.”

That has him cracking up, slamming the empty glass on the table as he crows, and Arcade has to smile too. Against his better judgment, he pours each of them another drink while Six wipes away tears.

“Oh man, I walked into that one… Though hey, I could _totally_ rock one of those outfits.”

Arcade considers it, picturing the way those tight shorts would cling to Six and what he, or rather, _someone_ could do with that harness strapped to his chest. Six waggles his eyebrows at him, knowingly, and it’s the liquid courage that keeps him from being embarrassed at it.

“Just don’t make the courier/package joke.” He advises and Six tilts his head, curious.

“The pa- oh my god.” His eyes widen with delight before fixing on Arcade, that devil-may-care grin on his face. “Arcade.”

“No.”

It would be a mistake to drink more, when Six is in this sort of mood, where he flirts, increasingly outrageously until Arcade sends him to bed, and not in the way he wants. But he’s seen the way men walk in and out of Six’s bedroom and he likes to think that he’s worth a little more than a convenient lay.

“Come on.”

“No.”

Six affects a pout and it takes a half-second too long for Arcade to pull his eyes off those lips. A feat he can’t manage a second time when Six’s tongue runs oh-so-slowly over them, pointedly, and he needs the drink now, just for the steadying effect.

Six melts off his chair and approaches Arcade, liquid and smooth as always even with him being what, seven shots in? More? Arcade’s lost count for both of them, only aware of the not-just-alcohol heat in his body and the look in Six’s whiskey-gold eyes. He pours down, but not all the way, just resting a solid weight on Arcade’s shoulder. Six’s index finger is light as breath on his chin and entirely unnecessary to make him look up, at the flickering fire in his eyes.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t trust me with your package, Arcade?” The grin is in his voice, his lips curved into a smirk.

Toying with him, like a cat with its prey, and damn him but it was working, Arcade’s resolve not helped by the drink quieting his sense of reason.

“I don’t think you could handle it.”

Not what he should say, he should to tell Six off and get up. Say he’s going to go scrub down and have both of them know that actually he’s just going to lean against the safe house and jerk off to this, to the curl of Six’s lip and the imagined taste of him.

Six’s finger trails down his cheek to his neck and then lower still, a burning path even through his clothes. It stops with a hand pressed against his sternum, straightening him up.

“Could I ask you a question?”

His face is just inches away from Arcade’s, close enough to taste the whiskey on his breath.

“Yes.”

Normally he’d be cautious about it, but he can’t imagine Six is going to ask him about his past now, not with the _intent_ hot in his gaze, the firm hand keeping him upright. He suspects he’s about to get a lap-full of courier and if that was a bad idea before, he’s having a hard time caring. Really, did it matter if this was just once?

“How much more _overt_ does my flirting need to get for a kiss?”

It takes a second to process but then he opts for the simpler option. He slides his hand to the nape of Six’s neck, his answer more physical than Six expected, but since the man presses into him immediately, crowding him on the chair, he clearly doesn’t mind.

It's either the alcohol or the kisses that has the room spinning and Arcade doesn’t care. Six does climb onto him, his weight a delicious friction against the erection he’s been trying to ignore.

Arcade tugs out the band keeping Six’s ponytail contained and feels the lips quirking against his. He ruins whatever smart comment the man was about to make by pulling it, already knowing that it would result in a shuddering gasp. It does, and in a bonus hip-wriggling grind that has him pulling harder, seeing just how much Six wants to take.

He keeps at it until Six is arching so far back he’s in danger of falling, hands so tight on Arcade that he’ll have bruises later, and he has to concede that Six likes it as hard as is currently feasible.

“This why you grow it out?” He asks, pressed against Six’s throat.

The man pants, eyelids fluttering, but he nods. Easier than Arcade would’ve expected, to knock the cocky smile off his face. Six strangles a whine when he stops and Arcade swallows it, biting at his lips again.

He wants to play with that hair some more, see what other noises he can force out of Six, but there’s a whole body to investigate too. A thought Six shares, pointlessly pushing at Arcade’s lab coat, but he’s sitting on half of it.

His problem, even if Arcade is overheating in it now, but he pulls Six’s head back again, at a harsh angle that exposes all the tendons in his neck.

“Come _on_.” Six whines when he does nothing more than look, study the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

“So impatient.” Arcade sighs, tightening his fist and enjoying the pleasure flitting across his face. “Yo-”

“Don’t you dare Latin right now.” Six gripes, but there’s no heat in it, not with the way his ass is so very intentionally grinding against him.

“I think I’ll do whatever I’d like, _actually_.” His tone is clipped, clinical, and his guess that the snappish comment would shut Six up is entirely accurate.

Six tries to come forward for a kiss and Arcade yanks him back, finally getting around to tasting that sweet neck. He doesn’t ask about Six’s stance on marks and the man just moans when he starts sucking a hickey into his throat. It’s high enough he won’t be hiding it, won’t be denying what happened tonight, and it’ll last even if this is the only time they do this.

A bitter thought, but in for a penny, in to fuck the living daylights out of Six.

Arcade releases Six’s hair to grab his ass with both hands, pulling him more firmly against his cock. Head freed, he tucks into Arcade’s neck, mouthing at the exposed skin he finds. He’s given up on removing the lab coat and settles for sliding his hands under, exploring what he can of Arcade’s clothed chest.

It's only satisfying for a few minutes, rutting and necking like teenagers, and then Arcade’s got another fistful of hair, to whisper directly in his ear.

“I want you naked and on your knees.”

Arcade will have an array of fingerprint bruises at the end of this, based on the way Six’s hand immediately tenses on the back of his neck. He’s glad for the marks, the mutuality.

Six pulls back, licking his kissed-red lips. There’s a familiar light in his eyes, even with the lust.

“ _No_.”

He knows it’s not a real ‘no’ just by the tone of his voice, the playfulness, but the fingers fluttering just under his shirt help spread the message. Arcade tugs his hair upward, making him go as straight as he can, breath catching as Arcade just keeps lifting.

He’s taller than Six, and broader too, a fact he’d quietly enjoyed in his own fantasies, thinking of just flipping the man around, moving him however he wanted.

Or shoving him off his lap to bounce along the floor, yelping.

“Hey!”

More indignant than hurt and Arcade just shoulders off his lab coat. Far too hot in here for it now, especially if this continues, and he’s pretty sure he’s got his mark again. Six pushes off the floor, pouting, and Arcade pours himself another shot.

Like he needs more alcohol, but it was the ritual of the thing. Like Six’s request for a toast.

“I believe I told you to get undressed.” He says, barely looking at the man even though all of his focus is on him.

“And I said no.” Petulant until the end, apparently, and Arcade nods slowly.

Then he stands, brushing invisible dust off his lap, and Six sucks on his bottom lip as he looms over him. Delicately, gently, he cups Six’s cheek, stroking past it to the nape of his neck, smiling when he lifts up in hopes of a kiss. Instead, he slams the man into the table; Six’s arms coming up at the last minute to catch him.

“Ohhh… kay.” Shock and arousal and then Six drops his head down on his arms, widening his stance a little. “Guess you made me.”

Arcade chuckles, keeping one hand on Six’s back as he walks to get behind him, pressing immediately against the offered ass. Six doesn’t put up even a token resistance, he pushes back and wriggles happily when Arcade takes his waist in both hands.

“Undo your pants.”

He straightens slowly, shooting an uncertain glance over his shoulder, and relaxes when Arcade nods, permissive. Then his hands are quick to follow orders, pants kicked off even with Arcade keeping him close.

Arcade isn’t entirely surprised by the lack of underwear or by Six’s resurging disobedience in trying to twist around, to face Arcade. It’s not particularly difficult to shove him back against the table and Arcade would be lying if he said that the sight he made wasn’t entirely worth it.

Completely naked and bent in half, one hand on his back keeping him that way while Arcade walks back to his side.

“We’re going to have to work on your discipline.” He remarks, lightly, like they were discussing dinner plans.

“I don’t want to.”

That’s what his mouth says, at least, but his ass shakes in obvious invitation. His eyes hold a dare there, to take him up on that, and Arcade slides a hand down the smooth skin. Very few scars on his back, but Six wasn’t a runner.

“Fascinating.” Arcade’s tone suggests the opposite. “However, _I_ want to, so,”

He punctuates the sentence with a harsh smack, earning himself another yelp, this time from pain. But Six’s head drops, shoulders bowing so he can lift his ass just a little higher. He can’t see the smirk on Arcade’s face.

The second strike is much the same, and so are the third, fourth, and fifth. Each time Six darts away on instinct and then his body begs for more. Arcade steps closer, to switch to the other cheek. After all, Six still has to walk tomorrow, even if the idea of him having to remember this with every step has Arcade’s cock twitching .

“Arcade.” A breath and a whine all in one, the courier’s body sagging into the table.

Arcade rubs his abused ass, admiring the bright red, and Six’s hips jerk away from the stimulation. No escape though and he continues, kneading the firm flesh until the man is whimpering his name into his arms, torn between the pleasure and the pain.

Twenty-seven strikes in total, though he’d not made Six count this time. Some reflex had him keeping track, curious as to how much it would take to have him well, like this.

“Something you’d like to say?” He prompts, still eyeing that red, red ass.

He’s not ignoring Six, he’s just enjoying him while the man tries to tell him that he wants to be fucked now. Or however he’s going to word it; Arcade wonders if he has more brat in him or if he just needed a thorough spanking.

“Please.”

Arcade hums and then steps away, to return to his chair. Six’s head moves slowly, to face him, and Arcade smiles at the wrecked look he’s sporting. His lip is swollen, from biting it so much, and he’s flushed with pupil-blown eyes.

“I already told you what I want.” He reminds, but Six just blinks slowly. “On your knees.”

Six straightens shakily and Arcade loves the loss of his cool demeanor, his casual, if deserved, arrogance. It’s still a smooth descent, in front of Arcade.

He doesn’t need to ask before Six’s mouth is open, those lovely liquid eyes on his.

Arcade undoes his fly, keeping the staring contest going as he frees his cock and Six’s tongue slides out as a welcome mat. There’s no need to order him here because as soon as he nods, Six is on him. It’s good he doesn’t need to speak because the sudden relief—the ache of being untouched for so long—has his eyes rolling back in his head for a second.

Six’s tongue drags along the underside of his cock before swirling around the head, sucking delicately at the tip and then pressing his nose against Arcade’s belly. Six hadn’t just _done this before_ , he was a goddamn _expert_ , and Arcade has to grab a fistful of hair just to slow him down.

But then he’s moaning on Arcade’s cock and that’s amazing except for how it’s worse. Arcade forces him back until he’s barely hanging onto the tip, tongue outstretched to keep the contact.

Slowly, teasing for both of them apparently, he pushes Six’s head back down and the man swallows eagerly, entirely missing the point of this being _foreplay_ and not trying to make Arcade come as quickly as possible. But he’d gone through the trouble of getting Six’s ass all nice and beautifully sensitive and he won’t be missing the opportunity of actually fucking the man’s brains out.

This time, he pulls Six all the way off and then up, to claim that talented mouth. He’s breathing heavily, probably because Arcade just jammed his cock down his throat and cut off his oxygen supply, and the kisses are sloppy and wet from pre-come and saliva.

“Go get on the bed.”

Six is trying to nod but also get kissed again and Arcade gives him another shove, prompting. He stumbles, wetting his lips and staring at Arcade for a moment before nearly _running_ to the other room.

Arcade, meanwhile, takes the moment to have a few calming breaths before hunting down that bottle of lubricant he knows Six keeps. The man had far too many casual affairs to not have at least _something_ somewhere in his bag.

It’s easier to find than he thought, tucked in with another bottle of whiskey and a stimpak. He grabs it and, noticing the shot he didn’t actually drink before, opts to not waste the man’s liquor. He shoots it back and heads towards the bedroom.

Six is sprawled across the bed, just as Arcade asked, but he’s masturbating too. The look in his eyes knows that he’s courting more trouble and _likes_ it. He squeezes his cock and milks it base to tip, arching into his own touch.

“Having fun?”

Arcade slips off his shirt and then his own pants, tossing them somewhere else because watching Six play with himself is more important than wrinkly clothes.

“Take too long.” Six complains, fucking his hand in earnest.

He spreads his legs and then rubs just his index finger along the head of his cock, collecting pre-come. He doesn’t acknowledge Arcade climbing onto the bed, too busy leaning back to trace his finger against his own asshole, breathing quick and hard.

“That’s enough of that.” Arcade says, catching his wrist before he can start fingering himself. “Hands on the headboard.”

He half expects resistance, another bit of struggle, but Six just reaches up and grabs the metal rod. His legs are spread wide, plenty for Arcade to slide between, and he rewards him with a kiss. Six pushes against him eagerly, clearly hoping for some frotting, but Arcade’s waited long enough for this bit of ass.

“Keep your hands up there.”

He doesn’t wait for the nod, just kisses his way down Six’s body. His cock is urgent red, twitching as he nears it, but he licks a stripe along Six’s hipbone instead, ignoring the need in both of them for the moment. He’d like to suck a few more marks here, if for no other reason than to annoy Six for taking pleasure when he hadn’t been given permission to.

It doesn’t annoy Six though, he just tries to thrust against the nothing on his cock and whines Arcade’s name. If he begged, he might get his way; Arcade’s finding that his name sounds really good when Six moans it.

“God, please, Arcade.” Six whimpers, his thighs jumping under Arcade’s attention. “There’s no fucking blood in my brain. M’gonna die.”

“Sound plenty coherent to me.” Arcade blows cool air over Six’s cock and grins at the twitch.

“Just fuck me already.” His voice cuts into a high keen as Arcade bites down on his thigh.

Pre-come manages to flick onto his shoulder and he’s mildly impressed about it. He looks up again to see Six white-knuckled on the headboard, a little blood trickling from his lip. He must’ve managed to actually bite through it.

“Not a very nice way to ask.” Arcade points out and has to swallow back a laugh at the desperate noise he makes, nearly a sob.

“Pl _ease_.” His eyes drag open to meet Arcade’s. “I need to come so bad, fuck, _please_ Arcade.”

Arcade hums but reaches out to where he placed the lubricant and Six tries to widen his legs even more in encouragement. When he presses a slicked finger against the man, he’s pushing back immediately, trying to force it in.

“I _will_ stop, you know.”

The threat has Six still immediately, barely breathing, and Arcade eases just the first knuckle inside him. It’s a little more care than he probably needs, given how quickly he relaxes against the intrusion.

“I suppose I don’t need to worry too much, given you bend over for anyone who gives you half a look.”

A light tone, but not as non-judgmental as he meant it to be. One finger becomes two, stretching him open.

“Not… anyone.” Six’s face is beautiful contorted like this, even disagreeing with Arcade.

“No? Just every bouncer,”

He withdraws his fingers, smirking at Six’s moan of loss, but he needs a little more lubricant. He’d like to get three in and, ideally, a little more begging. He’s not quite as gentle this time, just pushing in without warning, and Six swears, twisting against his touch.

“Several NCR soldiers, a few dancers, that one merchant…” Arcade crooks his fingers and the man nearly jolts off the bed. “Did I miss anyone?”

“You.” A harsh breath and then his eyes open, something strangely vulnerable lurking in those liquid depths.

It’s gone in a flash, fast enough Arcade’s not sure it was ever there, and he almost wants to stop to ask.

But then he nudges the man’s prostate again and his name really is so sweet in that lilting voice. It’s not long before Six is back to pleading, their earlier conversation forgotten in favor of alternating between singing Arcade’s praises and begging him to fuck him for real.

“Hands and knees.” Arcade orders and Six clenches on his fingers.

He pulls out slowly and then starts spreading the slick gel on himself, trying not to enjoy it too much. Six flails a bit, trying to roll over without kicking Arcade in the head, and then he’s ass-up just as requested, though his face is buried in the mattress.

Close enough and it meant for a deeper fuck, so he wouldn’t quibble the details on this particular order. Arcade rises to his own knees, mindful of the slightly worrying noises that the bed makes. But it holds steady and then he’s pushing his cock against Six, savoring the way the man tried to muffle his needy noises.

Arcade breathes slowly as he bottoms out while Six loses his fight against his vocal nature, making a frankly embarrassing noise. Arcade would be more tempted to tease him about it if he could think of anything other than how divine Six felt.

He grinds slowly against Six’s ass, making the man hiss at the hypersensitive skin being touched, and waited for whatever sign he’d make that he was ready.

It came in a very subtle way.

“Arcade, please, more, _now_. Please?”

It should not surprise Six that he moves slowly, easing out of the man’s wonderfully tight heat to the relatively cool air, and then back in with the same painstaking pace.

It does frustrate him though, his hands fisting the threadbare blanket, swallowed moans taking on a distinct edge.

“Something you’d like?” Arcade asked, leisurely sliding a hand down Six’s back.

He shivers at the sensation and then squeezes down on Arcade’s cock, making him bite his cheek.

“Do you want… it in writing?” A complaint trying to be grumpy, if only he wasn’t so turned on. “Please, with a fucking… something on top. Please fuck me. Fast.”

“'A fucking something on top'?” Arcade questioned, slowing down even more, as though in thought, and Six nearly screamed.

It was somewhere between a keen and a growl, but it was frustrated and horny and Arcade laughs, but obliges him. Truth be told, he’s not faring much better.

There wasn’t any more talking to do, though Six couldn’t shut up if there was a gun to his head. Arcade pulls at Six’s hips and experiments until he’s figured out the most reliable way to hit his prostate. The man made noises like Arcade was beating them out of him, cries of ‘harder’, ‘faster’, ‘yes’, and also the occasional ‘thank you’. Arcade was nearing his peak, but held it off, needing Six to get there first. He knows he’s close, he’s buried his face in the mattress to muffle himself and Arcade reaches down for a fistful of hair, yanking him non-too-kindly up.

Six is _loud_ , crying out for anyone to hear how amazing he feels, how good Arcade is, and desperate pleas for more. It did wonders for his ego, honestly, and it was a little funny that every time he pulled Six’s hair, he moaned. Like a horny bell and Arcade laughs at the insane thought.

“Touch yourself.”

The breathy thank you is music to him. It doesn’t take him long at all, just a few more deep strokes and then he’s crying out his completion, squeezing down like a vice and shuddering.

Six sags down on the bed and Arcade let him go, shivering as his cock was released to the cold air. He holds it, idly stroking, and examines Six.

The need to come still burns within him and his hand speeds up a little, eying that round ass. But then another thought occurs, though he supposed he should probably check in on the alarmingly still man.

“Roll over.”

Not quite an order, soft, and Six moves sluggishly. He doesn’t object to lying in his own wet spot, just smiles at Arcade, sated and comfortable.

“Y’got a package for me still?”

Arcade snorts and Six runs his tongue over his lips. It’s even more obscene than before, what with the bottom one still flecked with a little blood and swollen, and Arcade smiles.

There’s not a resisting bone in Six’s body as he works his way over him, to straddle his chest. Just like earlier, his mouth is open and ready at the suggestion. His eyes lid and then close once Arcade slides home, wrinkling his nose only briefly.

He didn’t even wipe off before this, Arcade’s cock is still slicked with lubricant and was, minutes ago, hilted in his own ass and the _filthiness_ of the act is enough to have him fisting Six’s hair again, forcing more into his mouth.

It’s a weird angle, not really possible to deepthroat and Arcade’s jammed against the wall now, but Six just goes with it, sucking eagerly.

He’s not going to last long, not after such that build-up. It’s probably only five minutes before Arcade yanks Six’s head back to come all over his face. He didn’t expect it, but doesn’t seem to have any objections, based on the come-slick smile he gives Arcade.

He slides off him as carefully as he can manage, mindful of the way he’d sprawled out while Arcade used his mouth. Arcade stood up, twisting in hopes of cracking his back, and then looked around for something cloth-like that wasn’t his own shirt.

“You leavin’?”

The not-hidden-enough panic has him jerked back to Six, who’d sat up. The come still striped his face, he’d not even attempted to wipe it off, and Arcade gestured between them.

“To get us some washcloths.” He clarified and Six let out a whoosh of breath, falling backwards.

Clearly not planning on being any help, but when was he ever? Arcade walked back to the kitchen, to grab some out of his bag. When he returned, Six was licking his fingers, and the sight was enough for his body to consider a round two. Especially since the come was now gone and there was a decidedly impish look on Six’s face.

“Still want a washcloth?”

Arcade rolls his eyes at the offer as he walks over, about to retort about hygiene, but then he notices a bit of missed come on Six’s cheek. He wipes it off automatically and, before he can do anything, Six is sucking on his finger. And… _purring._

The digit is spit-shiny when Six releases it, with a lewd pop. His cheeks are red as he looks up at Arcade, mouth still a little open, and it’s hardly a decision to bend down and take it, to share multiple kisses and then be gently but inexorably pulled back onto the bed, Six entirely wrapped around him.

For a minute, he’s concerned he’s going to have to remind Six that he’s a little past the point of his life where his refractory period was a sip of water and a lusty smile, but he doesn’t do more than try to steal his breath away. And stroke down his back, long and slow, clearly relishing the skin-on-skin contact.

Arcade thinks for just a moment of those bouncers again, of the fact that they were hardly gone for twenty or so minutes before returning to the casino. Granted, they were technically supposed to be working, but Six is…

Demanding _all_ of his attention, honestly, and he shoves the thought away to focus on the man in front of him.

He settles, eventually, to just tuck into Arcade’s neck. They’d shifted, Arcade not wanting to squash him despite how much he seemed to want to be squashed, and now Six was snuggled as much into his side as he physically could, one arm and leg thrown over him for good measure.

Arcade yawns, not quite able to stifle it in time, and Six stiffens like he pulled out a weapon. He looks down at him, as best he could, but could only see the top of his head.

“What’s wrong?” He asks and he doesn’t think he imagines Six shifting closer.

“Nothing.” Too casual and it immediately sets off alarm bells in his head. “I’m just guessing you’re going to want to go to bed soon.”

Normally, Six is too skilled at lying, but normally Arcade didn’t have him naked and wrapped around his body like he was thinking of trying to fuse in.

“If I’m not mistaken, I’m already _in_ bed. Unless you want me to-”

“No.” The façade broke immediately and Six’s arm tightens around his chest, trying to draw him closer if only physics would bend to his will.

Arcade smiles, not that he can see it, and rubs small circles on his back. He doubts Six has any intention of letting him go anytime soon, even if he’s not entirely sure about admitting it yet, but he has no qualms about holding him right now. Though, he can’t imagine Six is actually as comfortable as he seems, given that he must still have lube leaking out of him.

“Only the worst of inconsiderate lovers would leave like this.” He says, in the same casual tone Six used.

“And Arcade Gannon is nothing if not a considerate lover.”

Not an entirely sarcastic statement, but a clear deflection, and Arcade just leans down to press a kiss against the top of his head. He’ll allow it, for now, though he made a note to talk to Six about it _before_ he allowed himself to be riled into bed again.

Six freezes and then breathes a shaky laugh, nuzzling Arcade’s skin.

“Don’t get sappy up there. Just ‘cause I let you fuck me this time doesn’t mean I’m some sort of submissive little slut.”

The bravado would’ve been grating if Arcade wasn’t so very comfortable—and if the memory of Six desperate and writhing wasn’t so fresh—but the affection behind it was real. Arcade found some niggling part of his brain relieved at the implication of 'this time', that this was not a to-be-regretted drunken one-off, that there very well might be a _next_ time.

“Of course. I would have to fuck you twice before I could call you _my_ submissive little slut.”

Arcade wasn’t particularly invested in calling him a slut, but the shiver that works through Six has him intrigued enough to consider it. And, as a fun bonus, Six doesn’t have a retort at the implication. The minutes pass slow, but easy, with the rigorous activity and cozy embrace lulling his eyes shut. He's sinking into sleep when he hears the murmur, or thinks he does, or maybe he feels it.

“Promise?”


End file.
